


Quarreling

by Meltha



Category: Much Ado About Nothing - Shakespeare
Genre: F/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 14:00:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17122700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meltha/pseuds/Meltha
Summary: Benedick has deeply offended Beatrice.





	Quarreling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vae/gifts).



> I'd kind of love to know who would attempt to sue over this one, but still, no copyright infringement is intended.

Benedick was, beyond any shadow of a doubt, the single most horrid excuse for a human to ever climb out of a bog of perdition and attempt acting like a gentleman. Beatrice was unsure just how many beings might fall into that category, but her certainty of his ultimate triumph at being the worst of the lot was absolute. 

“Sweet, I have apologized until the wind himself hath deemed me too full of air, yet still thy brow is furrowed in contempt! Enough! My offense was but slight!”

“Slight!” Beatrice said, and her tone would have set the king’s fiercest charger into craven scurrying. “Think thou the one who is injured or the one who has given injury is best able to tell the pain of a received blow?”

“I have struck thee not!”

“I did not say thou hast!”

“Thou didst, most certain!”

“Thou art a fool, Benedick, a motley fool with naught between thy ears but the carcasses of long-deceased flies!”

“And thou art a wench whose passion for bantering with those of better wit is sure to make thee into a withered and thrice-cursed spinster, Lady Beatrice,” he said with a mocking courtly bow. “I have done with thee!”

“Not if I have had done with thee first!” she said, every inch indignation.

“Cousin, peace,” Hero said, gripping Beatrice’s shoulder gently as Benedick strode away in a temper, disappearing into the courtyard. “What hath the noble Benedick done to make thee so out of temper?”

“Faith, he hath given me great insult,” Beatrice said, pushing the hand from her. “There is no woman who draws breath who would not explode like a cannon over such a thing as what he has done!”

“Indeed?” Hero asked, looking concerned. “What hath he done, cos?”

“Forsooth, he hath given offense in such a way as your innocent ears should not know the telling,” Beatrice said, blushing.

Hero’s eyes widened in interest at that.

“He hath… hath tried to shatter the sixth commandment with thee?” she ventured, trying to sound both pious and worldly.

“Nay, not that,” Beatrice said. “No, his crime is most foul, but not in that wise.”

“Then what?” Hero asked.

“He did most rudely suggest that I had done something base with one of the train of Don John,” Beatrice said, blushing again. 

“With whom?” Hero asked.

“Faith, even Borachio! As though I would kiss that face! He hath a countenance like sour milk, a personality as interesting as flat beer, and a wit so lacking in sharpness a babe could play with it most safely,” Beatrice said, her face screwing up into open disgust.

“There we do agree,” Hero said. “His list of good qualities begins and ends with his swordsmanship, and even there many surpass him greatly. Yet Benedick thought something of sin had passed between thee and him?”

“Yes. I had dropped one of my gloves in the road, a true accident, no intrigue meant, and he saw Borachio retrieve it for me, though only at Don Pedro’s behest,” Beatrice said. “Somehow in his great idiot brain, Benedick contrived this meant not merely a returned glove but some sort of secret invitation to wanton depravity, and he saw fit to berate me for my supposed lustful dalliance with the stupid brute.”

“He is jealous,” Hero said, hiding a laugh.

“No!” Beatrice said.

“Aye,” Hero returned, smiling widely. “Men only become like overzealous guard dogs, yipping at those who mean no harm, when they think their treasure is in peril.”

“Men, perhaps,” Beatrice said, considering her words. “Women, though, would use such talk to destroy one another like unto those same guard dogs ripping to shreds a cut of fine meat.”

“The tongues of gossips are edged in swords that cut them not and wound with words,” Hero agreed. “Think thou he will wag his tongue to besmirch thee in converse with chinwagging maids and matrons?”

Beatrice paused before saying, “Nay. Tis not his way.”

“Good,” Hero said, then waited a moment as a pair of doves flitted past. “Could he not win thy forgiveness?”

“Mayhap,” Beatrice said, “but many a day and month and perhaps even year might pass.”

“A year?”

“Aye, a year. Or a month.”

“A month?”

“A turn of the moon in her waxing and waning is only a short time for an infraction of this sort,” Beatrice said. “Then, perhaps, I shall listen to his pleas, if the pleas do please. If the pleas please not, then he shall please not me.”

Still in a fine temper, Beatrice strode off to the gardens, leaving her poor cousin to ponder her final statement and wonder at the foolishness of mortals caught in the snares of Cupid.


End file.
